Equality of a Sort
by Thefallenheart
Summary: A very pissed off Guardsman. A politicaly correct re-education programme. Maybe these two things should never go together.
1. Chapter 1

Lerik was reading a book

Lerik was reading a book. To look at you would not think he could manage such a taxing activity on his brain. To look at you would think that he should at least need his index finger for the job. Around him Re-education was happening. It fully deserved the capital R not for its educational benefit (that it had in negative quantities), not for its enjoyability (which was non-existent) and sure as hell not for being effective (because it wasn't) but simply for its pointlessness, boringness and all over complete and utter uselessness. Dully he wondered if maybe, in his thirty year long career as a Guardsman, he should have spoke his mind slightly less. But then he would have snapped and have been forced to kill a number of officers and then they would have refused to pay him.

Currently he was reading 'A Visitors Guide To Catachan' By Juliana Greenleaf. It was a good book. Well written, informative and to the point with a very pleasing waffle/fact ratio. You always had to have some waffle in a book, of course, to make it readable and, in some indefinable way, human. A good ratio in Leriks opinion was about 1/10. He would very much have liked to meet Juliana were it not for the fact that she was a native of Catachan, other end of the galaxy, and probably about four hundred years dead if the publishing date was anything to go by. It was a survival guide that dealt with everything from long-term harsh environment survival, ambush setting and Greenskin avoidance to the medicinal properties of a great variety of plants.

'Mister Canoot are you paying attention!' it was not a question. It was obvious to everyone that he was not paying any attention at all and was not even trying to hide this fact. The withering voice of the lecturer, one of the high ranking ones from the Scolla Pragmaticum or whatever the bloody place that churned out, among other things, the Commissars was called. The click, click of her heavy boots as they strode across the polished wooden floor was the only sound as she stalked towards his desk. The eyes of the entire class were turned towards him, pitying him the scornful attention of this menacing figure in the severely black dress, but grateful that it was not them.

Her hand grasped the top of the old and slightly yellowing book and an attempt was made to forcefully tug it out of his hands.

The book stayed resolutely still. Lerik had a lot more strength in his fingers than their length and elegance would lead others to believe. He gave her not-really-a-question due consideration for a few moments and decided to answer truthfully. 'Slightly. About ten percent, it spiked at just over twelve about half an hour back but that was only because the word sex was mentioned.' He waited for a few shocked seconds that lasted an eternity as everyone in the teaching hall tried to comprehend what they had just heard. He was slightly curious about what her expression was but looking up would have meant taking his eyes off the book and he was too curious to learn more about the uses of Scabby Root as an antidote to the condition known as Gummy Eye. Besides, she was unarmed. He had checked that as he took an almost compulsory, and slightly admiringly, look at her physique. 'I would be grateful if you would let go of my book before I am honour bound to break your fingers.'

There was a shocked gasp. 'You would acutely strike a woman?' there was, surprisingly, a great deal of disbelief in that tone of voice.

He seemed to give this due consideration 'Probably not. Don't get me wrong; it's not out of respect. It's more to do with most women being frailer than most men.'

Yes, he was unquestionably in the Re-education programme for his general outlook on life, upsetting the wrong sort of people and speaking his mind. The last two were often synonymous. Perhaps it had been a mistake to sleep with the lieutenant, and then again maybe not. You only live once, and how many privates could say in all honesty that they have screwed a lieutenant. Probably not that many.

'Mister Canoot, do you know why you are here?' asked the Head of the Re-education Program looking over his glasses. He was a harsh looking man with a long nose, cold grey eyes and the sort of hairstyle that looks like it was designed to be aerodynamic.

'In this office or in the programme.' There was a brief but noticeable hesitation before the word 'sir.' Was added to the end of that sentence. Lerik was having problems again. It was the land. That was the problem. He was land sick. It was a problem that affected him about once every two or three years. He could feel its solidity and motionless rigidity creeping up through the soles of his boots, through his webbed feet, up his legs and swimming relentlessly to his inner ear where it played merry-hell with, among other things, his sense of balance. The effect this had on everyone else was that he became even more of an anti-social, belligerent misanthrope than he was every other day of the year. Many people meeting him for the first time find this hard to believe.

The Lecturer Superior gave him an expression so dead it may have once belonged to a Necron. 'Let's start with the latter of those two.' He picked up a sheet of paper with a stamped representation of a winged skull at the bottom of the page in red ink. 'According to this report you were caught paying no attention to your lecturer, reading an un-sanctioned book, threatened to break your lecturers fingers when she attempted to remove this book from your possession, called her 'a frail woman' and than the two of you descended into what could best be described as a verbal sparing match that contained, on your part, a whole host of insults of a sexist nature.' The Lecturer Superior, whose name according to his desk was probably Martem, gave a deep sigh. 'You were in a lecture to promote gender equality. What the hell were you thinking?'

'To be perfectly honest I was thinking; "give me my damn book back". The rest of it I thought was just a competition to see who could come up with the most interesting insult. I shall have to tell her I won by default the moment she sent me out of the room.' He answered with a triumphant grin upon his brutal features.

'You will have you rations cut because of this and all your privileges will be suspended until you apologize to Lecturer Hether and she is content with that apology. And if you are thinking that you are now free to do what ever you so please regardless of consequences be warned that there are far worse fates. Now' he said with a tone of finality to indicate his belief that the previous matter was utterly closed and done with 'Do you know why you were selected for Re-education, Lerik?'

'Not really'

'Do you not suspect that it was because you have caused offence to just about every officer, priest and authority figure you have ever encountered?'

Such a bloody stupid question. Such a brain-bendingly moronic question. He could not let such a thing pass without comment. He could feel the words welling up inside of his mind and he knew there was just no way that he could avoid saying them.

'No, I thought it was because I screwed, at the same time, the Lord-General Roderick's wife and daughter whilst simultaneously performing the most awesome guitar solo in the entire history of our species on the desecrated corpse of the Emperor.'

Something told him he was just about to find out what one of those other punishments could be.


	2. Chapter 2

There are ships that are elegant and sleek

There are ships that are elegant and sleek. There are ships that are majestic and magnificent. There are ships that are so stylish that it is almost a disappointment to arrive at the destination, because the ship is so awe inspiring and does not so much travel by warp as insinuate itself between the currents of the warp like it is gracefully dancing with the universe.

And then there was the _Blade of Krieg_. And the attributes just listed only applied to it in the inverse sense.

Lerik was standing to attention with as much enthusiasm as he could muster from the pit of the shrivelled up, malnourished, narcotised thing that he used as a soul. So he was essentially standing as an insolent, slouching heap of resentment standing five men from the end of the line.

Lerik had often wondered what the point of the early morning regimental drill was for. As far as he could tell it was a functionless ritual. Once after asking repeatedly every morning for six months he had been told it was to instil discipline. This seemed to be the standard answer. Personally he just thought it was so the officers could feed their already overweight egos. And have an excuse to have a good shout in the morning.

'From this day forth, men, I will be your father!' Bellowed the man with the captain's stripes as he strode down the line of men. 'And Lieutenant Kroblus will be your mother! And we are not married! So what does that make you!' Here he stopped in front of the slumped half asleep form of Lerik Canoot. 'Give me an answer soldier!' The final bellow was issued at full volume only about six inches distance and the soldiers, fresh recruits from Krieg by the look of them, wavered and tried to edge out of the way slightly with out doing anything so provocative as moving.

Lerik was not good at mornings at the best of times and these were by some considerable distance not the best of times. He had not had a beer in nearly a week. He felt like he was getting chapped gills. He had got the cabin just one walls thickness away from the noisy end of a water cycling tank and had had extreme trouble sleeping. And he was on a ship full of Kriegans. He hated the Kriegans, there was just something about them that played on his last frayed nerve. And now one of the bloody freaks seemed to want to engage in a shouting match. Well it was now a matter of honour and duty to meet the challenge.

Taking a deep breath into the robust set of lungs that occupied his stocky rib cage and holding it for the briefest of moments as a response dredged its self from the murky depths of his mind like an old corpse from a shallow grave.

**'PROOF THAT NOT EVEN YOUR FAGGOT LOVER REALLY LOVES YOU, SIR!!' **The higher reasoning parts of his brain that were just beginning to flicker into wakefulness, but still a good few hours off being fully functional, could not help but come up with the sophisticated reflective contemplation of _"Oh shit, did I just hear me say that?"_

Judging from the echo, the bloodlessly terrified expressions of young men around him and purple colour of the face of the captain; yes, yes he had just said that.

The machete like sabre that was part of the captain's uniform came whistling across the space where his neck would have been had his highly developed, almost inhumanly sharp, survival instincts not caused him to take a very hasty step back. After that it was just a matter of reflex actions.

'Lerik, do you have any known history of mental illness?' asked the colonel who, according to the nametag on her uniform, was called Hanss.

'No.' there was a definite pause before the word 'Sir' followed that answer.

'Have you been, to your knowledge, infected with any temperament destabilising contagion?' asked the colonel, looking over her steeple fingers.

'No. Sir.'

'Has anyone been spiking your food with anything unusual?'

'No. Sir.'

'Have you been looking out of the windows at the warp?'

'No. Sir.'

'Have you been taking any sort of drug, legally administered or otherwise?'

'No. Sir.'

'Then pray tell me why Captain Drefgad, Lieutenant Kroblus and two dozen fresh recruits are all in need of medical attention.' She was staring Lerik right in the eyes. Not many people ever did that. It had been written by an Earth poet in ancient times that the eyes are the windows to the soul. The soul of Lerik was not something anyone had ever wanted to look at in any detail. Lerik had to give her a grudging admiration for the stare, it was a good stare and the pale grey eyes did nothing but make him feel like his head had become transparent and all his thought were not only being read but little circles of red ink were being drawn around the spelling mistakes.

'According to this report you have already had your rations cut. Is this true?'

'Apparently.' Answered Lerik matching the stare moment by moment.

'With your abbhuman status I would not even be asked to justify your execution. Give me a reason not to have you shot.' She instructed still staring her stare that was not so much cold as approaching absolute zero.

'Name another soldier that can take out two World Eaters single handed without heavy weapons.' He replied still not breaking eye contact.

'Then as punishment I am stripping you of your leisure privileges and you are on the stale bread and water diet. Now get the hell out of my office.'

After the door had closed Lerik decided to think about the situation he was now in. He was on barely enough food to survive; he had no leisure time so when he was not sleeping he was training. That seemed to be about it, as if being on a ship of Kriegans was not punishment enough all by its self. With a mumbled curse of 'bugger this for a game of soldiers' he nonchalantly set off in the direction of the quartermasters store.

Frankton Jobbly was steeling down to a nice game of cards with his favourite companions: a meat pie and a mug of ale. It looked like it was going to be a blessedly uneventful night. Or at least the time when he allowed his body to believe that it was night. Then the door opened.

'Piss off were closed for the night.' He said without looking up. The last thing Frank needed was more grief from the Death Korps. By Orns gruffty beard he would happy when this trip was over.

'Permission to commandeer one leg of pork and one pint of beer comrade. I am authorised to offer compensation for these much-needed requisitions by way of one gold ingot of suspicious origin.' Said the figure now walking into the room and into the light of the overhead lamp.

'A whole ingot for a bit of pork and ale? Are you taking the piss by any chance?'

'Does the Emperor walk much?' asked the stranger by way of answer as he strode past the irate Quartermaster and disappearing into the fusty darkness at the back of the storehouse. There was the sound of the lid being levered of a crate. Then something metallic caught the light of the lamp as it travelled its arc of trajectory and landed with pinpoint precision in the mug of ale with a dull splash.

'Is this the beer' there was a sound of someone pouring a few drops into metal mug.

'Is which one the beer?' There was the sound of someone swallowing.

'Nope that was the hand wash. Is this one the beer?' More sounds of drinking. 'Well it tastes like it might have been bad beer in a past life. Thanks for the food I will not take up anymore of your time.' And with that the stranger was gone, back into the gloom of the ship.


End file.
